


The View From Here

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Post-Divorce, married boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer has an irrational fear of Ferris wheels.  Brendon sees it as his duty as best friend to cure him of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The View From Here

Jon and Cassie had this tradition, apparently, of going on a dinner cruise at the Pier every summer. This year Jon’s grandmother booked them the dinner as a surprise, and had given the tickets before Jon got around to telling his family he and Cassie were at the off-again stage. “Maybe you could take them off my hands,” he said to Spencer, when he and Brendon first arrived.

“Oooh, tickets!” Brendon said, and crowded in close, standing on his toes to look over Spencer’s shoulder. 

“Why don’t you and Ryan just go?” Spencer asked. 

Jon scratched his nose and ducked his head in that way he did when he was uncomfortable with something. “Well, that would be sorta weird, wouldn’t it?” he said, and Spencer wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. “Plus it really isn’t Ryan’s scene at all.” 

That made more sense. Ryan did have a bad track record when it came to boats. And water. Putting the two together in a setting where there would be alcohol was just asking for tragedy. 

“It’s a little convenient, isn’t it,” Spencer said, narrowing his eyes at Jon and searching for any hint that this wasn’t on the level. “How it coincides with our visit?” 

Jon rolled his eyes and Brendon reached between them to snatch the tickets out of Jon’s hand. “What he means is,” Brendon said, elbowing Spencer out of the way, “we’d be happy to take them, thank you Jon.” He batted his lashes winningly and Spencer gave in with a sigh. 

“Thank you, Jon,” Spencer said, voice dry, “for your generosity and your hospitality.” Then he hefted his bag onto his shoulder and made his way down the hall to his usual guest room. There was a moment of mild confusion when, upon opening the door, he found Ryan sprawled over the bed. 

“Hey, you got in early,” Ryan said, lazily levering himself up for a hug. 

“What are you doing in here?” Spencer asked instead of offering a greeting. 

Ryan shrugged. “Futon broke. Casualty of the creative process.” Spencer _so_ did not want details on what that might possibly mean. “Whatever,” Ryan said, and waved a dismissive hand. “You can just share with Brendon, right?” 

There was something in Ryan’s voice. Some suggestion that was unfamiliar, somehow, but Spencer didn’t feel like examining it too closely. He was worn out from a long tour and a longer flight, and ready to sleep for fourteen hours, then wake up and do absolutely nothing. And Brendon’s usual guest room had a nice big bed. 

Brendon was undressing from his travel clothing and redressing in his sleep clothing when Spencer came in. He gave Spencer an odd look, but didn’t question it. “I was thinking we could go Wednesday night, since Jon and Ryan have that thing, anyway. It’s been forever since we’ve been to the Pier. And then there would be the fireworks, too.” 

“Wednesday’s fine,” Spencer said and kicked off his shoes. He wasn’t all that big on making plans during his vacation, but the dinner cruise could be cool. Sometimes it was nice to have a break from the creative force that was Ryan and Jon’s marijuana stash. 

“I thought we could go early and maybe do the miniature golf course or something, too,” Brendon said. “Or…” He paused when he glanced over his shoulder, catching Spencer in the process of shucking his jeans. “Are you sleeping in here?” 

Spencer flopped down on the bed face first, voice muffled in the pillow, “Ryan’s up to something, the futon’s broken, sleep.” 

Brendon chuckled low and then he was drawing the sheets up over Spencer’s shoulders. A few moments later, the bed sunk with the extra weight and Brendon let out a pleased sigh. “Sleep,” he agreed. 

Visiting Jon’s was a quick way to forget about the rest of the world. Time moved differently in his apartment. Whole days passed in a haze of smoke and laughter, and guitar battles between Ryan and Brendon. 

Usually, Spencer looked forward to these visits. They hadn’t had much opportunity lately, recording and touring. The last two months Spencer had been waiting for this trip and the down time. Except now, somehow, things were weird. 

It wasn’t anything too obvious. Brendon and Ryan were getting along fine, and Jon was happier than Spencer had seen him in ages. But there was something in the looks Jon and Ryan kept sharing, and the way Spencer caught them staring when they thought his attention was elsewhere. 

At first, Spencer thought there was something up between the two of them, which might go a long way to explaining the broken futon. But if so, then couldn’t Jon and Ryan being sharing a bed instead of Ryan taking over Spencer’s usual room? And Ryan would have _told_ Spencer, if that was the case. 

No, it seemed to have something to do with Brendon and Spencer. It had been over a year. They couldn’t still be weird about the split, could they? They’d hung out plenty since then. In fact, Spencer thought their friendships were stronger than ever now. 

Whatever the reason for the strain, it was making Spencer feel tense and on edge. Brendon noticed—he always did, and started making up excuses to get Spencer out of things when he was feeling particularly stressed-out. It was enough that when Wednesday came around, Spencer was actually relieved to have the day free of Jon and Ryan. 

Brendon practically bounced down the boardwalk until they reached the first kiosk selling beer, where he secured plastic cups for both of them. “I love those guys,” Brendon said, “but it’s nice to have some time just the two of us.” 

Spencer found himself returning the fond smile, and resolutely ignored the way his heart seemed to speed up. He didn’t answer, just rolled his eyes and took a long drink of his beer, and let Brendon lead the way further down the pier. 

The weather was starting to cool down as autumn approached—still hot but with a nice breeze from the water to keep things from getting uncomfortable. Brendon looked completely at ease in his loose jeans and t-shirt, expensive sunglasses shading his eyes. Spencer kept his eyes on the boats lining the pier, the flood of tourists, and slow turning of the Ferris wheel, though occasionally his gaze drifted to the way the denim stretched over Brendon’s ass when he walked. 

“Golf?” Brendon asked hopefully, as they neared the middle point of the pier. Being a Wednesday, the place wasn’t as crowded as usual. There wasn’t even much of a line for the course. 

Spencer eyed the Ferris wheel warily. From so close up, he could see all the workings, hear the gentle whir of the machinery. He made himself look away, checking his watch. They had a couple hours. “Only if you promise to shake that ass for me,” Spencer teased. 

Brendon shot him a coy look and started up the stairs, wiggling his ass as he went. “You get us more beer, I’ll get the tickets,” he called. 

By the time Spencer waited in line and got their second round, Brendon was already at the gate of the mini-golf course, twirling one golf club. “Got our balls,” he said, holding out his other palm with two balls, one white and one red. 

Sometimes, Spencer felt he was only indulging Brendon by rolling his eyes, so he suppressed the urge and grabbed the red ball out of Brendon’s palm. He supposed he should just be grateful that Brendon hadn’t picked two blue balls. 

When Zach was around, he took golfing pretty seriously, whether on a real course, a driving range or a mini-golf course. Ryan and Jon were on the opposite end of the spectrum, usually too high to actually bother trying to play. Most of the time on the score card under their names 6s were marked from when they just gave up trying. 

Brendon was pretty good when he wasn’t goofing off, though he did make a point of showing off his best asset, arching his back and shaking his hips while lining up his shots. 

Spencer hip-checked him out of the way to take his own shot, sinking his ball in two. Brendon made it in three, bending in half rather than at his knees, to pick his ball from the hole. It stretched out the line of his back, drew his jeans tight against his thighs. 

“You’re not on stage anymore,” Spencer said, pointedly adjusting his sunglasses and looking elsewhere. 

“Says who?” Brendon said, still bent in half, and licked his lips suggestively. Spencer muttered about flamboyant retards and nudged his way past. 

Brendon managed to hit his ball into the water, because it wouldn’t be a round of putt-putt golf between them if he hadn’t. He further obliged Spencer by making many a lewd comment about getting his balls wet. They ended up fairly close to being tied, Spencer only pulling ahead because a couple of holes in one that Brendon tried to insist were nothing but pure luck. 

Brendon led them into another line, this one for the carousel. “You know,” he told Spencer, in a conversational tone, “when I was little, my parents would never let me go on the Ferris wheel.” 

“It isn’t going to happen, Brendon,” Spencer said, and climbed onto his horse with as much dignity as possible. 

“They were worried because I always had so much energy, and I was so little,” Brendon said, unheeding. “They thought I’d rock too hard, or that I’d somehow slip out of the restraints. All my brothers and sister were allowed to go, but I had to stay and watch.” 

“If you’re trying to convince me, you’re not doing a very good job of it,” Spencer said dryly. 

“Come on, Spencer. Just because Ryan’s a douche bag doesn’t mean we can have fun.” 

“That’s exactly what it means,” Spencer gritted out between his teeth. 

“You can keep your eyes closed,” Brendon offered, smiling winningly. “I’ll even hold your hand.” 

“Wow,” Spencer drawled, “as generous as your offer is, I don’t think the power of holding your hand is going to do much when the whole thing comes crashing down.” 

The thing was, he _knew_ his fear was irrational. He knew that if Ferris wheels were as shoddily assembled as Ryan made them out to be as children that people would hear about a lot more accidents. In fact, local governments probably would have put bans on them, no doubt. Spencer had never actually heard of even one accident. 

What Spencer had seen was the way the carnies were drunk pretty much twenty-four hours a day. He’d seen Ferris wheels that jerked and swayed and made horrible metallic noises when they moved, and stopped for no good reason then took forever to start up again. 

Brendon snorted but he didn’t press the issue any further, which Spencer appreciated. Instead, Brendon led them on a bunch of kiddie rides, ridiculous but fun. Ryan would usually flat out refuse, and Jon would watch with an indulgent expression, but Spencer didn’t mind acting like an idiot with Brendon. It was part of the fun, right? They were young, rich, and here they were relatively anonymous. It was almost their duty to be idiots. 

They moved into yet another line, Brendon babbling about some band Jon and Ryan had been talking about, who’d be playing open mic at a club that weekend. That was distraction enough that it wasn’t until they walked up the ramp and were positioned behind the red block for a photograph, that Spencer realised they were in the line for the Ferris wheel. 

“No,” he said. 

Brendon shrugged. “We’re already here, dude, we can’t skip out of line now,” he protested, and grabbed Spencer’s arm. 

“I’m gonna kill you _so hard_ ,” Spencer said and blinked against the flash of the camera. 

Another attendant ushered them up the second ramp and Spencer tugged on Brendon’s grip. Brendon’s fingers tightened, not that there was anywhere for Spencer to go without causing a scene. The crowd behind them blocked him that way, and there were a couple teenage girls who currently didn’t seem to notice them, but would if Spencer drew attention to himself. 

“Kill. So hard,” Spencer said again. 

Brendon waggled his brows absurdly and said, “Promises, promises Smith.” 

An attendant led them toward a car and Spencer felt his feet dragging, entirely without his conscious involvement. The rational part of his mind told him he’d get on, and five minutes later he’d get off, and he’d be no worse for the wear. The part controlling his feet (incidentally the same part that would like to punch Ryan Ross in the jaw) simply did not care for rational thought. 

Brendon’s grip slid down Spencer’s arm to his hand, laced their fingers together. If Brendon weren’t the one responsible for Spencer being here in the first place, the gesture might have been comforting. 

The car rocked gently when Spencer climbed in. Brendon followed, careful to keep it from swaying anymore than necessary. The car was different than regular Ferris wheels—completely enclosed except for the two small windows on either side, and rather than sitting side by side, Brendon was seated across from Spencer, a hesitant grin on his face. 

“Kill you,” Spencer said, just so Brendon didn’t forget. 

Brendon squeezed his hand tighter and the wheel turned upward slowly but smoothly. “It would be better if it was at a fair, where you can just look out at everything straight ahead.” 

“And then you lean too far forward and tip the car over and you fall out on your head,” Spencer finished. 

“That never actually happens,” Brendon said with a wave of his hand. 

“And then the bolts come loose and cars start falling,” Spencer said, and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“This is so much safer,” Brendon said soothingly. “This doesn’t get disassembled and reassembled all the time. I bet they check it out for stability all the time, you know. Spence,” he squeezed Spencer’s hand, “check out the view.” 

Spencer shook his head abortively. “I’m okay without the view,” he said. 

Brendon laughed, but it was a soft sound, not mocking at all. “Are you seriously going to let something stupid Ryan said when you were fourteen keep you afraid of heights forever.” 

“I’m not afraid of heights,” Spencer said hotly. He opened his eyes just to prove his point and made himself keep them open. 

It wasn’t so bad. The lake spread out for miles of blue in one direction, sunlight making the waves crest silver. To the right, the buildings were cast in shadow, the skyline impressive and looming. When he saw the city like this, Spencer could understand Pete and Patrick’s fierce love for their town. 

“See,” Brendon breathed, face close to Spencer’s, leaning close to share his view. Spencer probably should have leaned back, but he didn’t. Brendon inched closer, and rested their temples together and Spencer let out a shaky breath. They were almost at the apex, half-finished with the ride. It would be over soon. 

“I’m still going to kick your ass,” Spencer muttered, though he didn’t feel it nearly as much. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Brendon said, and Spencer could hear his smile without seeing it. “I helped you overcome your fear. Just call me the Spencer Smith Whisperer.” 

“You can shut up, or we can test your parents’ theory about you being small enough to fall out of the car,” Spencer threatened. 

Brendon laughed and turned to press his forehead against Spencer’s cheek, and the car shuddered. The whole _wheel_ shuddered. Spencer’s hand tightened convulsively around Brendon’s, and the car came to a stop. 

“Brendon,” Spencer said. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. Terrified. He didn’t _sound_ like that. He didn’t get freaked out over shit. 

“It’s okay,” Brendon said quickly, without thought, like he believed it. He sat back slowly, looking out the window behind him. He laughed, bright but with a nervous edge. “This sort of thing is normal. Probably someone having trouble getting out at the bottom.” 

Spencer took a deep breath and couldn’t seem to force it back out. “Hey,” Brendon murmured, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the announcement over the loud speakers outside. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologise for the brief delay. We’re having a few small technical difficulties, but we’ll have you up and running in no time at all!” The pre-programmed voice was way too cheerful for Spencer’s taste. His whole mouth went dry and he leaned his head back against the window. 

“What does that even mean, ‘technical difficulties?’” he asked, finally releasing his breath. He felt light-headed and weak. 

“I’m really sorry,” Brendon said, all earnest and regretful. “I didn’t think—if I had known this was going to happen, I never would have dragged you on here.” 

“Okay,” Spencer said, and swallowed hard. The whole car was just sort of swaying gently in the wind. Maybe if they stopped breathing altogether it would stop moving. 

“Hey,” Brendon said again, brighter than before, “you know, maybe after the dinner cruise we could see one of the shows. Ryan said they went to see the circus thing a few weeks ago and it was really impressive. I think he’s secretly sad he’s not in our band anymore and cowboys out of the 60s don’t get to dress up like sparkly hobos.” 

“ _We_ don’t dress up like sparkly hobos,” Spencer said. He knew Brendon was just trying to distract him, but he felt that was something that needed to be addressed. 

“True, but we _could_ , and no one would think anything of it, right? Or, I don’t know, we could dress up as pirates. Did you see the ship down there? I know our cruise is really nice and everything, but part of me just wants to ditch it for that. Seriously, it looks like something straight out of one of the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movies.” 

“Brendon,” Spencer said, warning. 

“Or, hey, we could go see _Beauty and the Beast_ at the Shakespeare Theatre. _Aladdin_ was awesome last year. I mean, it would have been more awesome if I was Aladdin, but I suppose you can’t have everything. 

“Or, I mean, Jon and Ryan aren’t going to be home until late. We could go downtown, or we could—”

“Brendon!” Spencer snapped. 

“Sorry,” Brendon said. He squeezed Spencer’s hand and then the whole car rocked sort of wildly. Spencer’s muscles went tenser, if that was possible, and eyes shot open. Brendon was standing above him, crouched against the low ceiling. 

“I’ll sit beside you,” Brendon offered and took a slight step towards Spencer. The car rocked again. 

“Stop. Moving. Now,” Spencer said, feeling his body wind tighter with each word. 

“Right,” Brendon whispered, his breath stirring the hair framing Spencer’s face. There wasn’t much room between them, or anywhere for Brendon to go. Spencer drew in a breath, preparing himself for the inevitable sway so Brendon could sit down again. 

Only Brendon didn’t sit down. His hand flexed in Spencer’s, loosening and then tightening again. “Sorry,” Brendon said again. Spencer barely had time to spare him an annoyed look before Brendon was leaning closer. His free hand came up to brace on Spencer’s shoulder and if the car swayed, Spencer didn’t feel it. He was too busy staring at Brendon until he couldn’t any longer, until Brendon was too close and Spencer’s eyes fell shut. 

Spencer parted his lips—to say something, Brendon’s name or a protest, anything, but nothing came out. Brendon pressed their mouths together, lips fitting smooth and confident against Spencer’s. Spencer finally found his voice, but Brendon’s name was muffled, came out more like a moan of desperation than anything else. He brought his hand up to Brendon’s waist, holding on, fingers digging into the fabric of Brendon’s shirt. 

Brendon slid close, sitting half in Spencer’s lap, and the shudder that went through Spencer’s body had nothing to do with fear. Brendon’s hand slid up Spencer’s shoulder, fingers warm on the bare skin of Spencer’s neck, and sank into Spencer’s hair, rubbing at his scalp. Spencer tugged him closer, hand splaying over Brendon’s back and Brendon whimpered and opened his mouth over Spencer’s. 

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, when Brendon pulled back for a breath. 

Brendon smiled, his same familiar, easy smile that always made Spencer smile back. Only now it made something in his stomach tighten, made him want to pull Brendon back in for another kiss. “I’m distracting you,” Brendon said, a hint of a tease in his voice. 

Spencer gave in, pressed his hand more insistently against Brendon’s spine and Brendon went easily, leaning back in. The kiss was slower. He parted his mouth gently against Spencer’s, nipping, and each press of his teeth against Spencer’s lip sent sparks skipping down his spine. 

One kiss turned into another and another, until Spencer lost count of how many there had been. He was too distracted by the soft, needy little sounds Brendon kept making and the way Brendon’s body relaxed more and more, settling into Spencer’s. Brendon lapped at Spencer’s lips and Spencer hesitated. 

The thing was, Spencer had kissed his friends before. Ryan was only straight by the very loosest definition of the word, and Jon was pretty comfortable in his sexuality. Not to mention their label mates, who liked to press boundaries or generally have a good time, regardless of gender. So yeah. Spencer had kissed friends, male and female, plenty of times. 

It never felt like this. 

It never felt like Spencer’s heart was going to pound right out of his chest, like his skin was crawling, hot and cold all at once, like the whole damn Ferris wheel could tumble down, the pier could sink beneath them, and it wouldn’t matter if Spencer could just keep Brendon this close, keep sharing his breath. 

There was another metallic noise and the wheel began to turn again. Spencer felt Brendon smile against his mouth, parted far enough to whisper, “Feel that Spence? Our kiss moved the world.” 

Spencer snorted and tilted his head, pressed his luck. Kissed Brendon again, harder, deeper, licking at Brendon’s lips, then past them, felt a rush like triumph when Brendon didn’t pull away. In fact, Brendon melted into it, sighing and carding his fingers through Spencer’s hair. 

After a long moment, Brendon sat back, legs still tangled in Spencer’s. He touched the back of his hand to his mouth, breathing deeply, and Spencer just wanted to press him down against the seat and cover him all over. He leaned in and Brendon held up a hand to stop him. 

“Wh—” Spencer breathed. 

Brendon jerked his head to the side and Spencer followed. They were almost to the ground again, and within seconds there were attendants on either side of the car, unlatching the doors and ushering them out. 

The sun seemed brighter than it had been when they’d got on the Ferris wheel, and Spencer’s legs didn’t want to work how they should. Brendon had kept Spencer’s hand the entire ride and wasn’t letting it go now. He led Spencer towards the booth selling the pictures and his hand was sweaty and uncomfortable, but Spencer didn’t loosen his hold. 

“You’re not buying that,” Spencer said, hoping that the glare on his face matched the one he had in the picture. It was pretty fierce. 

Brendon smiled too brightly and Spencer was struck breathless with the desire to shove Brendon against the railing and kiss him until neither of them could remember their own names. “Yes, I am,” Brendon said, and Spencer couldn’t find the words to argue. “I’m going to make little wallet sized copies and give them to all our friends.” 

“You’re a dork,” Spencer said. 

“You love me,” Brendon said off-hand, like he had a million times before, but it hit Spencer differently, and he couldn’t answer. 

“Come on,” Spencer said instead. “They should be boarding the boat, now.” He shook his hand free of Brendon’s as they walked. Brendon shot him an unreadable look which Spencer flatly ignored. The feeling rushed back into his fingers and he wiped the sweat on his jeans. He wasn’t used to holding hands. 

Their boat was docked towards the end of the pier. They passed a bunch of people their own age dressed in clubbing clothes, boarding trendy-looking boats along the way. Their own boat was more elegant, and the small crowd boarding was made up of a bunch of wealthy couples. Spencer would have felt out of place in his black button down and jeans, except that he had spent enough time with Ryan who tended to redefine the dress code wherever he happened to be. Being famous meant getting away with a lot of fashion faux pas. 

The hostess gave them a long once-over and then looked at their tickets before waving them aboard. Brendon’s hand was warm, steadying Spencer at the small of his back as they went up the gangway. 

A man in a tuxedo led them to their table on the third deck, raising an eyebrow at them before going on his way. The table was nice, close to the railing rather than in the middle of the deck, catching the full breeze from the ocean and offering an unobstructed view. It was set in china and silver, with sparkling crystal ware and flickering candlelight. Brendon whistled low as he took his seat. “Jon could have warned us to dress all snazzy,” he said. 

Spencer figured that Jon rarely noticed such things. Probably always before Cassie had just picked his outfit for him. The thing was, Spencer didn’t really mind the occasional sideways glance if it meant keeping their anonymity. Their fellow diners were mostly upper class, middle-aged couples who had probably never even _heard_ of Panic! at the Disco. 

Brendon, though. Brendon took derisive sneers and superior smirks as a personal invitation to being as charming and guileless as possible. He always managed to win over even the oldest, prissiest, right-wing moralist of the crowd—could probably do while simultaneously talking their son into bed right in front of them. Not, to be clear, that Spencer would endorse such behaviour. 

There was a set menu to choose from. Spencer was already planning making a stop on the way home, though, because there were no vegetarian options and even the sides managed to have meat in them in some form. Brendon didn’t seem bothered by it, humming a little under his breath as he read the menu. Spencer started when Brendon’s bare toe inched under the cuff of Spencer’s jeans, brushing bare skin. Spencer stared, but Brendon made no acknowledgement, other than the slight pull at one corner of his mouth. 

Their waitress came up eyeing them warily, like they might be catching. “Can I start you gentlemen off with something to drink?” she asked, no pad in sight. This place was too classy for things like taking _notes_. Spencer had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

Brendon just turned on his winning smile and Spencer saw the girl’s shoulders drop just a bit. She smiled hesitantly back. She couldn’t help it. Spencer knew the power of that smile. “Hi, Clarissa,” Brendon said, not even pausing awkwardly as he read her name. “I think we’ll start with a bottle of the Grand Siècle, please.” 

“Are you trying to woo me,” Spencer asked, when she had gone. 

“Is it working?” Brendon asked. He arched a brow, his foot becoming more adventurous, trailing up Spencer’s calf. 

The thing was, Spencer didn’t know what game they were playing. This wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary for Brendon. He liked pushing Spencer to get a rise out of him, and Spencer liked to refuse him the pleasure, which meant sometimes Brendon pushed pretty damn far. But that kiss was messing with Spencer’s head. He wasn’t even sure if they were still playing at all. 

He was saved from having to answer by the return of their waitress, accompanied by another member of the waitstaff carrying the bucket and stand. Clarissa presented the bottle for Brendon before she set about opening it. 

“Do you know,” Brendon said conversationally, as Clarissa began to gently turn the bottle, “in France they have a phrase for the sound the cork makes, when the bottle is opened properly?” 

Spencer waited, striking an unimpressed pose. “They call it _le soupir amoureux_ ,” Brendon said. Clarissa smiled a little, ducking her head, and the bottle came open with a soft hissing sound. “The loving whisper.” 

“Where do you even come up with this stuff?” Spencer demanded. 

Brendon tried, for a moment, to look mysterious and knowing, but gave it up with a laugh. “Ryan told me. First time in Italy, I think. You were out shopping, and we got room service. God, he was such a pretentious dick.” 

“Was?” Spencer said, and noticed that Clarissa was fighting against a full on grin. Leave it to Brendon Urie to win her over. 

“Alright,” Brendon conceded. Clarissa waited politely after she finished pouring their glasses and Brendon paused to take a sip. He nodded his approval at her. 

“Very good, sir,” she said. “Are you prepared to order?” 

Brendon turned the smile up a notch. “You know,” he said, running a finger over the selections. “My grandmother bought us this cruise and she’s great and everything, but she never remembers when I tell her I’m a vegetarian, and all of this looks delicious…but is there anything you could do for me?” 

Clarissa bit her lip, but Spencer could tell just from the way that she was looking at Brendon that she was going to give in. Brendon tilted his head, gave just a hint of the famous Urie pout, and she caved. “I’ll talk to the chef. Maybe we can work something out.” 

“Thank you, Clarissa,” Brendon said. “And he’ll have the New York Strip, and can you make that as rare as they’ll let you, without the mushroom sauce, with the red skin potatoes and the steamed vegetables?” 

Clarissa left them and Spencer just stared. “Did we skip a stage in our relationship?” he asked. 

Brendon took a sip of his champagne and looked thoughtful. “I hope not,” he said at last. “I’d like to be there for all the steps.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes and took a long drink of his champagne just to have something to do that wasn’t looking at or talking to Brendon. “How did you even know how I wanted my steak?” 

“Are you for serious?” Brendon asked. “We’ve been living together almost two years. Before that we were _practically_ living with each other for _years_ on the tour bus. I think you should be more surprised if I _didn’t_ know how you wanted your steak.” 

Spencer wasn’t falling for it. “So how does Ryan have his steak? Or Jon?” 

Brendon huffed a sigh. “I don’t have to take this abuse,” he said. “Look, is that what you would have ordered yourself, or not?” 

“Maybe,” Spencer conceded, fighting against a smile. “That’s entirely beside the point. You _ordered my meal for me. After buying us champagne_. That is totally couples stuff.” Brendon looked amused and vaguely smug. “What?” Spencer said. 

“I’m just wondering how much my kiss managed to fuck with your head,” Brendon said conversationally. “I guess I’m just that good.” Spencer just glared. It usually worked pretty well, and this time was no exception. “I’m just saying, like, we order each other food all the time—take out, when one of us is running late or in the bathroom or something.” 

“What are you saying?” Spencer asked. 

Brendon sighed and dropped his foot from where it had been toying with Spencer’s knee. “Never mind. Forget it. It isn’t any big deal, Spence.” Brendon took another sip of wine, looking out towards the dock. “I think we’ll be leaving, soon. Do you know, in all the times we’ve come here, on tour or to see Jon or Pete or anyone, I’ve never done one of these before.” 

“Yeah?” Spencer said, unimpressed. “Me either.” 

“I know,” Brendon said. There was something wistful in his expression. “I just think it’s sorta cool. Sometimes it seems like we’ve done everything there is to do, you know? But this. This is new.” 

Spencer took a deep breath and told himself to let it all go—the kiss, the footsie, the suggestive looks. It was just Brendon being Brendon. He let the breath out and made himself be casual instead of defensively pissy. “Yeah, it’s cool. The view’s nice. I always liked the architecture here. Like, all the old, gothic stuff mixed right in with the new.” 

Brendon leaned back in his seat, shoulders relaxing. “Seriously. I know Jon’s new place has a lot more room and everything, but I kinda miss the old place, with the el right there, and all the old buildings. It was like being in Gotham City.” Just then, Clarissa swept by with a tray, presenting them with artichoke dip and bread as the ship began to cast off. 

“Except Gotham City is the DC world’s New York City,” Spencer argued. It was one of their classic arguments, one they could never reach an agreement on. 

“Get over it. They filmed _The Dark Knight_ here,” Brendon said dismissively. 

“Fuck that. If Chicago is Gotham City, then where the hell is Metropolis?” Spencer demanded. 

“ _Superman Returns_ was filmed in Sydney,” Brendon said smugly, like that settled anything. 

“You’re a bitch,” Spencer said. 

Brendon threw back his head and laughed and Spencer looked hard at the table so as not to stare. “Look,” Brendon said. “Even in the DC world there are no concrete locations. I mean, sometimes Gotham and Metropolis are written to be within an hour or two driving distance from each other.” 

“You’re a bitch,” Spencer reiterated, “and Gotham City is New York.” 

The meal was served slowly, as the sun began to set, plenty of time between courses to let the food settle. There was salad and soup, and somehow Clarissa had managed to sweet talk the chef into making Brendon squash stuffed with corn salsa and sour cream, with garlic potatoes and broccoli on the side. 

“Oh, god,” Brendon said, after taking a bite, and the noise he made was sort of embarrassing. Spencer flushed and tried not to notice some of their fellow diners staring. “You have to try this, Spencer.” He held his fork out for Spencer. 

Spencer glanced to his left and right before leaning in quickly to take the bite. The flavour exploded on his tongue, rich and spicy-sweet. His pleasure must have shown in his face because Brendon nodded his head smugly. “See,” he said, and his hand darted forward to snag some of Spencer’s potatoes for a taste. “There are benefits to a vegetarian lifestyle.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes, inured to Brendon’s wheedling by now. He cut into his steak, pleased to note the red juice spilling out on the plate. Brendon made a noise of disgust. “Why don’t you just go kill the thing yourself and eat it how it fell,” he muttered. 

“Sounds like fun,” Spencer teased, making a big show of taking his first bite, with little moans and closed eyes. Brendon was silent, though, and when Spencer opened his eyes it was to Brendon staring at him, mouth slightly parted, eyes distant. 

Spencer’s mouth went dry and he reached for his water glass, only to find it empty. He took Brendon’s instead, and Clarissa hurried up to them. “I’m sorry,” she said, filling both their water glasses and topping off their champagne. “Things are a bit crazy this evening. We had two people call off.” 

“It’s no big deal,” Brendon said, with this weird, private little smile for Spencer, only Spencer didn’t know what it was supposed to mean. “We don’t mind sharing with each other.” 

Clarissa quirked them a smile and hurried off to fill up another table’s glasses. And Spencer never really paid attention to their dining habits, usually. It was just something they did, helping themselves to each other’s plates without question or remonstration, sipping each other’s drinks, offering tastes when they weren’t being stolen. 

Brendon either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. He babbled about the new game he wanted to buy for Wii, the song they’d been working on, how he still couldn’t believe _Supernatural_ was over and how could they end it like that. 

All throughout dinner, there was a singer crooning softly from a stage on the fourth deck. After the main course was finished, Clarissa invited them to take drinks there. Some of the crew was about to take over entertaining. It was something of a variety show—some singing, some doing comedy, some playing an instrument. 

“I wanna see it,” Brendon said, and when Spencer wasn’t convinced he said, “Come on. Either they’re horrible and we can mock them mercilessly, delighting in our superiority, or they’re actually _good_ , and we get to enjoy the entertainment for once instead of being it.” 

Spencer was full from the food and pleasantly light-feeling from the beer and the champagne, so he gave in without much of a fight. Brendon held onto his wrist on the way upstairs, and Spencer didn’t let himself think about it, just twisted his hand around until they were palm to palm, fingers twined. Brendon gave him a delighted smile, and led him to a secluded spot along the far edge of the deck. 

There were several rounds of fancy drinks with ridiculous names and bright colours, garnished in exotic fruits. Spencer wasn’t ashamed to admit he liked girly drinks, and he was always up to try new things. 

The crew wasn’t bad at entertaining. It was nice, watching the skyline from a distance, growing brighter as the night went darker with the music in the background, not loud enough to be distracting. 

Brendon kept picking up the conversation whenever Spencer let it drop, and somehow he’d gotten on the topic of their next music video. “We should go back to our roots, you know,” he was saying, waving his hands excitedly. “I mean, I guess you could make an argument for the ‘But It’s Better If You Do’ video, but I don’t think it really counts.” 

Spencer shook his head in exasperation. As much fun as Brendon’s ADD could be, it often made following a conversation with him into a puzzle. He’d make random, downright bewildering jumps from one topic to another, the connections a game of word association in his head. “What are you talking about?” Spencer asked. 

“Oh,” Brendon said. “Well, I was just thinking of doing, like, an old school Las Vegas gangsta sorta thing.” 

“Did you seriously just say ‘gangsta?’” Spencer said, quirking a brow. 

“Don’t play, Spencer Smith,” Brendon said, and hip checked him. “Give me internet access and twenty minutes and I could totally find proof of you using it, too. Or worse. Let’s not even talk about the gross spelling errors you’ve been known to make.” 

“Oh, okay, Ryan Ross,” Spencer shot back. “Because your grammar is so spot on.” 

Brendon laughed and tossed his head back haughtily. “Fuck you, whatever. I was _saying_ , you know, we could have like, fancy suits and there could be a card game and show girls and stuff. It could be all _Ocean’s 11_ , with me as Sinatra and you as…Rusty.” 

“Rusty wasn’t in the original,” Spencer said. 

“Whatever,” Brendon said and waved a dismissive hand. “Details. I’ve never actually seen the first one. You can be Dean Martin.” 

“Why are you Sinatra?” Spencer challenged, liked the way Brendon got flustered and huffed a breath. 

Brendon caught on a second later and turned on his smile. He laid his head back against Spencer’s shoulder and looked up at him through his lashes. “Can I please be Sinatra?” he asked. 

Spencer knew Brendon’s face well enough he could draw it in his sleep, but there was something different about it here and now, in the moonlight, lit up with drowsy happiness. 

It struck Spencer all at once, and he had to know how Brendon could talk like this, like they always did, like nothing had changed, like they hadn’t been making out on a Ferris wheel two hours ago. Spencer asked, “What is this?” 

Brendon was silent for a moment, going all still and serious. He set his drink aside and took Spencer’s and did the same with it. “It’s just us,” he said. He ran a hand down Spencer’s shoulder, grabbed him at his elbow and pulled him in. Spencer didn’t need much urging. He turned them until Brendon’s back was to the rail, caged him in with hands on the railing on either side. 

Brendon’s hand came up when Spencer kissed him, catching in Spencer’s hair and tugging him closer. It wasn’t as though Spencer had any expectations, but the kiss was no less exciting than their first, only easy with more alcohol behind them, wetter, surer. 

A kiss alone hadn’t gotten Spencer hard since he was in high school, but his dick was already stirring in interest. He squeezed the railing tight and then let go, wrapped his arms around Brendon instead. Brendon wiggled close. His hips pressed sharp against Spencer’s and Spencer waited for the inevitable withdrawal when Brendon felt him. Only Brendon didn’t pull away. He moaned low in his throat and rubbed their hips together. His hand fumbled between them, tugging at Spencer’s collar and tilted his head, kissing Spencer deeper. 

There was no one near them, and it was easy to lean Brendon back over the railing with kisses and forget where they were and who they were, because no one here cared or even knew. Brendon spread his legs and Spencer wedged between them, held tight by Brendon’s thighs. His skin was hot, even through two layers of denim, making Spencer long for bare skin on bare skin. 

He didn’t know how long they stood there, but he was vaguely aware of other performers coming on. When they parted, Brendon panting in the hollow of Spencer’s throat, the skyline had changed entirely. 

“Someone took our drinks,” Brendon said, and pouted. It was true. They couldn’t have been _that_ out of it, to not even notice a member of the waitstaff coming by and clearing them…

“I’ll get us more,” Spencer said, and Brendon let him go, albeit reluctantly. There were a few people ahead of Spencer in the line, and by the time he got back, Brendon had been surrounded by a small crowd. It was down to Brendon’s attitude, bubbly and enthusiastic and infectiously happy, that he had managed to attract them in such a sort amount of time. 

“I can’t leave you alone for a second,” Spencer muttered to him, when he handed Brendon his drink. 

“What can I say, Spence, I’m just so charming.” Brendon batted his lashes and a few of the ladies giggled. 

“What is it that you two boys do?” one of the women asked, looking hesitantly interested, but willing to change the subject. It was, no doubt, the question they had all been dying to ask since first seeing Brendon and Spencer board the ship. 

Brendon sounded completely sincere when he spoke. “Well, Spencer is studying business, and I’m following my dad—doing surveying work. But really what we wanna do…Well, we’ve got this little band. I mean, it’s just for fun, but man, if we could, that’s what we’d do all the time.” 

“Oh?” another woman asked. “What is if you do in your band?” 

Brendon swallowed a laugh and Spencer answered for him. “I play the drums. Brendon does singing and guitar.” 

“Don’t you…er…need more instruments than that?” she asked. 

Brendon had to turn his head away and Spencer cleared his throat to keep from laughing. “Well, like he said, it’s just a hobby of ours. Nothing serious.” 

It was sort of fun, joining Brendon in playing this role. They had everyone eating out of their hands, spinning a story about how the cruise was a graduation present from a wealthy grandmother, and pretending to be so impressed by the open bar and glitzy surroundings. Everyone was entirely enchanted by the poor college boys in their midst. 

“We’re actually from Los Angeles,” Brendon said, “but we’re visiting our friends for the week. The Midwest is so different from the coast.” 

They were all hanging on every word he said. They prompted him with more questions and Spencer happily let him take the lead, content to watch the show. 

“Brendon,” one of the men—Terrance, if Spencer remembered correctly, laid a hand on Brendon’s forearm. “You know, the bartender was just telling me that sometimes guests get up there and do a number. I think I speak for everyone when I say that I’d love to see you two perform a couple of your songs.” 

“I don’t know,” Brendon said, but Spencer knew the look in his eye. 

“Come on, Brendon,” one of the older women, Eve, cajoled. 

Somewhere in Spencer’s absence, Clarissa had joined the group. “I could get you up there, if you want,” she offered. 

“What do you say, Spence,” Brendon asked, angling a wry smile at him. “You up for it?” He flicked his gaze downward and Spencer was thankful that his pants didn’t give anything away. Sometimes, Spencer didn’t know how he’d managed to get such a ridiculous five year old for a best friend. 

“You have fun,” Spencer said, waving him off. “I don’t think you really need me for this.” 

“Aww,” Brendon pouted. “You’re no fun.” He let Clarissa lead him through the couples swaying on the dance floor to the stage where he was presented with a guitar and the microphone. 

“This should be good,” one of the women commented to another. Spencer cupped his hand over his smile. 

Brendon played nervous, tugging at his ear and smiling tremulously. “This is just a little something Spencer and I have been working on,” he mumbled into the microphone. 

“What’s the name of your band?” one of the women asked side-long of Spencer, and a few others looked at him in interest. 

“We haven’t really picked yet,” Spencer said, “but we were thinking Chaos at the Dance Club.” They all nodded like it was something really profound and it took every ounce of Spencer’s willpower not to burst into laughter. 

Brendon began to play one of their new songs, never before heard by anyone outside of the studio and their friends. Spencer wondered what their fans would say, the outrage over them playing for a group of people who didn’t even know them. After the first number, Brendon segued into “Folkin’ Around,” which delighted the crowd. 

“You know,” Clara, one of the younger women on the cruise, there with her fiancé, said, coming up to Brendon after he’d finished, “my brother has a club downtown. I could talk to him. I think he would be interested in having you play.” She gave them her card. “Call me.” 

“Really?” Brendon said, all wide, incredulous eyes. “Oh, wow. That’s so cool of you.” 

“We need more drinks,” Spencer interrupted, and grabbed Brendon’s sleeve before he could protest, dragging him along. “You’re sort of horrible,” Spencer said to him, when the others were out of earshot. 

Brendon rolled his eyes. “Whatever. They’re totally asking for it. Besides, they’ll forget all about us by the time they get home tonight. Why not have a little fun?” 

“I can think of more fun things,” Spencer said, and he’d meant it to be sarcastic, hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so low and suggestive. 

Brendon grinned and pressed close to his side. “There’s still forty-five minutes to the cruise,” he said. He stood up on his toes and leaned in to brush his mouth against Spencer’s. “I think there’s gambling on the lower deck.” 

Clarissa stopped them by the stairs on their way down. “Your song. That second one…”

“Yes?” Spencer prompted, already knowing what she was going to say. 

“It, uh, sounded pretty familiar,” she said. “Chaos at the Dance Club, seriously?” 

Brendon snickered. “Maybe with a question mark after ‘Chaos,’” he suggested. Clarissa gave him a little smirk. 

“Keep our secret for us?” Spencer asked. 

Clarissa just shook her head indulgently. “You’re lucky Joanne is off tonight. She’s completely obsessed with you guys.” They signed a couple autographs for her anyway, before escaping below deck. 

There was more than gambling below. There was a bar with a dj spinning something with a throbbing baseline, some of the younger couples on the dance floor. There was a screening room showing some courtroom thriller that Spencer remembered seeing previews for a few months back. Brendon was most interested in the small, private lounges scattered over the second and first decks where coffee and dessert were being served. 

Their little lounge had its own sound system, on which they could listen to the music from upstairs, from the club, or choose from a selection of cds. There was a small debate over whether they’d play Elton John or Billy Joel (though secretly Spencer only did it to get Brendon worked up, because he honestly could not care less). 

A server knocked on their door before entering and took their orders for dessert then left discreetly. Brendon did a slow turn around the room and Spencer hung by the door, watching him. The room was lit entirely with candles and the moon coming in from the small window. Brendon always looked good by candlelight—it burnished his skin golden, made Spencer want to trace the hollows of shadow and planes of light with his tongue. 

“Wanna dance?” Brendon asked, when he finished the turn. There was a devious twist to his lips that made Spencer’s stomach clench. 

Spencer could only think of a few things to say to that, and none of them were very witty. He didn’t bother trying, just took a few steps into the room, reaching out to take the hand Brendon offered. Brendon pulled him in close, putting his other hand on Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer brought his hand up to Brendon’s waist, keeping his touch light. 

They danced in clubs, with Regan and Shane, with various members of their label, everyone pressed tightly together on the dance floor, sweaty and a breathless. They didn’t do this slow shuffle, bodies brushing as they turned. Brendon smiled up through his lashes, hair falling in his face. “Should I show you my moves?” he asked. 

Spencer snorted, tried to be dismissive. “Do you even have any moves?” 

Brendon looked affronted. “I am _smooth_ , Spencer Smith,” he said. His hand tightened on Spencer’s shoulder and somehow took the lead of their dance, turning Spencer in a neat circle in time to the music. 

“And when did you add ballroom dancing to your repertoire?” Spencer asked, refusing to sound impressed. 

“My mom watched a lot of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies when I was growing up,” Brendon confided. “I may have picked up a thing or two.” 

“So, imagine we’re making a box with our feet. You lead with your left foot, because the lady is always right.” 

“Are you a lady?” Spencer asked, and couldn’t keep the hint of suggestion out of his voice. 

The look Brendon gave him was devious, but he didn’t rise to the occasion. “So you lead with the left and step forward into one corner, then your right to the other side.” He dropped Spencer’s hand and grabbed onto his hip instead, guiding Spencer’s movements as he spoke. “Then sidestep, and back…good.” 

Brendon straightened his shoulders and took Spencer’s hand again. “So you lead, which means I’ll follow wherever you go.” 

Spencer flexed his grip on Brendon’s waist. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Play nice,” Brendon said. “It’s slow on the first step, then quick, quick.” 

Spencer wasn’t much of a dancer, but the way Brendon described it made it seem easy. Even when Spencer misstepped, Brendon went with it, but it was a little dull, just going in circles over and over. He and Jackie and Crystal had often played around as teenagers, and it was as easy as it had been with them to change his grip on Brendon’s hand and spin him under Spencer’s arm. 

Brendon caught himself on Spencer’s chest, laughing in delight. “I see you’re not completely devoid of moves of your own,” he said. 

Spencer turned them around again and pulled Brendon a little closer, and Brendon fell silent. It was sort of neat, how Brendon didn’t even have to look at their feet, just at Spencer’s face, and he could follow every move flawlessly. His hand kept shifting higher and higher until it was curved against Spencer’s neck, his fingers brushing Spencer’s hairline. 

They slowed down when the song changed, and then they didn’t even seem to be moving to the music at all. Brendon let Spencer change the dance to a shuffle more suited to a high school dance floor and brought his other arm up to loop around Spencer’s shoulders. 

Spencer drew his hand down Brendon’s waist to his hip, touching bare skin where Brendon’s shirt had risen. He wrapped his arms around Brendon’s back and the movement brought them flush together. 

He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension between them, but found he couldn’t bring himself to do it, could only think about how nicely Brendon fit in his arms, just the right height that Spencer would barely have to lower his head, just tilt slightly to the side, and they could be kissing. 

Brendon breathed in and let out a halting breath, swaying closer with the music, Billy singing about how Christie was his best friend, telling her that’s why they made such good lovers. And maybe Spencer should have taken it as a cautionary tale, seeing as how the two of them weren’t even still together, but he couldn’t help thinking about what kind of lovers he and Brendon would make. 

“What are you thinking?” Brendon asked. He brought his hand up to Spencer’s cheek, touch light. 

“I probably shouldn’t say,” Spencer said. 

“If you think that, then you probably definitely should,” Brendon whispered, and leaned closer, lips ghosting over the skin of Spencer’s jaw. Spencer tilted his head down, nose bumping gently against Brendon’s, and their eyes met, unfocussed. 

There was a knock on the door and Brendon broke away immediately, turning his back to Spencer and tugging at his shirt. “Come in,” he called. 

The man entered with their desserts, laying them on the table before disappearing again. Brendon had ordered some chocolate mousse layer cake thing, and Spencer, knowing Brendon would probably want some of his, too, had chosen berries served over vanilla bean ice cream. 

Brendon took a bite of his dessert, chocolate smearing his upper lip, and the face he made…Spencer had never before considered what faces Brendon might make during sex. He’d never had any desire to know. This, though. Brendon’s mouth slightly parted, tongue darting out to catch the chocolate on his lip, eyes gently closed in pleasure. Spencer paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, staring. 

Brendon groaned lowly and his eyes fluttered open. Spencer wondered if that was how he’d looked, earlier when he’d caught Brendon staring at dinner. He started, hurrying to look away, and spilled the ice cream down the front of him. 

Before Spencer could move to grab a napkin, Brendon swept in close, breath hot on Spencer’s cheek. “I’ll help,” he murmured, and ducked his head. Spencer started at the feel of his tongue, hot and wet, following the line of melted ice cream from Spencer’s chin down his throat. He didn’t stop, starting a meandering path along Spencer’s collar. 

Spencer’s breath caught and released shakily. He squeezed his hands at his sides to keep from reaching out. “I think you got it,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“I should be sure,” Brendon said and flicked his tongue against Spencer’s earlobe. “You don’t want to be all sticky.” Then he bit down on Spencer’s ear and tugged, just enough to make Spencer’s hips jump, make him grab at Brendon wherever he could reach. 

His hand caught at Brendon’s wrist and Brendon made a humming noise, the vibrations sending shivers down Spencer’s spine. Brendon got up on his knees on the sofa, crawling closer, and swung a leg over Spencer’s, resettling in Spencer’s lap. Then, he sat back abruptly, resting all his weight on Spencer’s knees. 

“I like yours,” he said. “Wanna taste mine?” Spencer nodded, not trusting his voice, and kept his hands low on Brendon’s back to keep him from falling while he twisted around behind him for their plates. 

Brendon cut a slice of the cake with his fork and lifted it between them, placing the tines against Spencer’s bottom lip. Spencer opened his mouth obligingly, but he barely tasted the chocolate or noted the texture. 

“Close your eyes,” Brendon said, and Spencer did, felt Brendon twist around some more. When Brendon kissed him, feather light, his lips were sticky and his mouth was flavoured of vanilla. Brendon worked forward on Spencer’s laps in little increments, hips moving in a slow, steady slide that was driving Spencer crazy, taking all his willpower not to thrust up. 

A voice came over the speakers, soft and unobtrusive, announcing that they would be docking soon and that the fireworks would be starting in five minutes. Brendon ended the kiss with a small nip at Spencer’s lips and sat back, eyes sparkling. His mouth was bright red and swollen, and Spencer leaned forward to kiss him again without thinking. 

Brendon ducked away. “Fireworks, Spence,” he said, and wiggled out of Spencer’s lap, offering him a hand. “Come on.” 

Spencer followed in a daze, trying to play catch up when Brendon did that thing again, managing to strike up a conversation like nothing had happened, easy as ever, this time babbling about Empire vs. Jedi and the relative merits of Leia in a bronze bikini and Amidala in her white arena costume (while simultaneously denying the existence of the prequels). Spencer only half paid attention, too distracted by the way Brendon’s ass moved when he went up the stairs, and the way he kept brushing his thumb over the skin on the inside of Spencer’s palm. 

On the upper deck, the candles had been put out and the music had stopped in anticipation of the fireworks. When they began, Brendon fell silent. He tugged on Spencer’s arm until Spencer got the idea and wrapped his arms around Brendon, his chest to Brendon’s back. Brendon laid his head against Spencer’s shoulder, looking up at the sky. Spencer was very aware of where his hands fell on Brendon’s stomach, low, just above the top of his jeans. 

They docked while the fireworks were still going. Some people began to disembark, but Brendon showed no sign of wanting to leave and Spencer was afraid to move. Worried that if he did, this thing between them might break. He had no idea what they were doing, if it ended when the cruise did, if it was just Brendon’s way of passing the time. What would that mean for their friendship? What would it mean for their band? Spencer had already lost Jon and Ryan. He couldn’t bare the thought of losing Brendon, too. 

The fireworks ended around ten and most of the passengers had gone. Brendon didn’t say anything as they made their way to the third deck, but Clarissa stopped them by the gangway, smiling. 

“Hey, I just wanted to say, you know, I won’t say anything. Even though Joanne would _die_ to know you two were together,” she said. “But I just wanted to say, you two look good together. You make a good couple.” 

Spencer shook his head, spoke out of automatic reflex. “We’re not. A couple.” 

The smile fell off Clarissa’s face and Brendon’s shoulders went stiff. He tugged his hand free of Spencer’s. “But, I just thought…” Clarissa said, and looked between them, clearly at a loss. 

“Thanks for everything, Clarissa,” Brendon said, with forced cheer. 

“Look,” Spencer said, when they were half-way down the pier and Brendon still hadn’t spoken, was walking just ahead with his back held painfully straight. Spencer felt like he should be apologising, only he wasn’t certain for what. “I just. I mean, her calling us a couple…you know, that sort of thing is going to get back to the internet, and—” 

“And so what if it does?” Brendon spat back. “Dude, people have been calling us gay since before we were ever signed. And, I mean, look at all that Ryden bullshit they used to make signs for. What does it matter what they say about us on the internet?” 

“Well,” Spencer said, floundering a bit. He was getting pissed off, though, didn’t like Brendon’s tone and still couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong, or how this day kept taking these dramatic, unpredictable turns that led from kissing Brendon to fighting with him. “We’re not a couple, for one thing.” 

Brendon shot him an incredulous look and Spencer shrugged his shoulders defensively, still feeling like he was the one who was somehow wrong. Brendon didn’t say anything as they left the Pier and went to stand in the queue for the taxis. Each minute that passed without Brendon speaking made Spencer tenser, made the sense of dread in his stomach grow stronger. 

Finally, when they were next in the line for a taxi and the crowd around them had mostly diminished, Brendon turned to face Spencer, arms crossed, mouth drawn into a pissy line. “Okay, I don’t know if you’re just being an epic douche bag, or if you’re seriously not on the same page as me, which just makes you an oblivious douche bag, but let me be really fucking clear: I did not kiss you to fuck with your head. I wasn’t just messing around to pass the time, or whatever bullshit you’re telling yourself in your head.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to protest, even though Brendon had pretty much read his mind. Brendon held up a hand to stop him and went on. “That cruise was a date and I was wooing you, and I kissed you because I want you, you jackass.” 

Whatever Spencer might have said before died unspoken and it took him a moment to remember to close his mouth. Brendon climbed into the taxi and Spencer followed him dumbly. The ride to Jon’s apartment was less than fifteen minutes, but it felt interminable, the silence stretching painfully between them. 

At a red light, Brendon looked across at Spencer. His face was painted in stripes of light and shadow from the street lamps and his expression was inscrutable. Then he huffed a sigh and uncrossed his arms, and a tiny smile twisted his lips, but didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Ryan was talking about having me sing with him on their new single,” Brendon said, “but he’s all freaking out about whether or not Pete will let me, and I keep telling him, if he’d just _talk_ to Pete, like, seriously. Pete’s all about the publicity, man. You know.” He kept babbling along those lines for the rest of the ride, and Spencer saw it for what it was—an offer to forget what had happened and what had been said, and just continue on as before. 

Now, there was tension in Brendon’s shoulders and he was wearing his fake smile, and Spencer could tell, just by looking at him, that Brendon was starting to get a headache. He did this squinty thing with his eyes and tended to run his hand through his hair a lot whenever he felt one coming on. 

The cab came to a stop in front of Jon’s building and Brendon paid him quickly, before Spencer even had time to fumble for his wallet. Brendon fell silent when they reached the elevator, staring directly at his own reflection in the mirrored doors. He looked small and tired and Spencer reached out to touch him before he thought better of it. 

Touch was such a big part of their relationship. Brendon liked cuddling and hugs and casual touches and Spencer had grown not only accustomed to them, but had come to seek them out and give them just as readily as Brendon. He didn’t like the idea of not being able to touch Brendon whenever he wanted. 

The elevator dinged and they stepped on, Brendon holding onto the close door button. He wanted to get back to the apartment, to use Jon and Ryan as a buffer. Spencer knew how Brendon dealt with things he didn’t want to deal with. 

Spencer thought about waking up in Brendon’s bed because that’s where they’d gone to bed together, rather than because that’s where they’d ended up falling asleep because they’d been up talking all night and Spencer had been too lazy to move. He thought about touching whenever and wherever he wanted. He loved Brendon and he wanted him. Why should it be any more complicated than that? 

Brendon got out his keys before the elevator even reached the floor and started speed walking down the hall as soon as the doors opened. Spencer kept fast on his heels, didn’t stop when Brendon did. He crowded Brendon against the door, using his height to his advantage. Brendon fumbled with the keys and cast Spencer a strange look. His breath caught when Spencer kissed him, and all the tension just melted out of him, shoulders slumping. 

“Spence,” he whispered, clutching at Spencer’s shirt collar. Spencer ducked his head, sucking kisses down Brendon’s neck, admiring the way it curved when Brendon dropped his head back. 

They stumbled together, landing hard against the wall. It shocked the breath out of Brendon, but he didn’t pull away. He tugged at Spencer’s shirt, brought their mouths back together. The keys dug into Spencer’s skin where Brendon held him, but Spencer couldn’t find it in him to care. 

Brendon’s kisses were hungry and desperate, different from earlier. It made Spencer’s head spin. He grabbed at Brendon’s hips, around his back, worked his fingers down the back of Brendon’s jeans. They were too tight; he couldn’t get to more than a couple inches of bare skin. 

Spencer pulled back long enough to pant, “Inside.” Brendon nodded his head and half turned away, trying to find the keyhole without looking. 

“Spence,” Brendon said, muffled. He huffed a breath and nipped at Spencer’s bottom lip. “I gotta…” He turned in Spencer’s arms and Spencer slid his hands up Brendon’s shirt, over his stomach, and bent his head to press kisses along Brendon’s hairline. 

Brendon got the door open and they practically fell inside. They crashed down the hallway, pushing each other against the wall with kisses. Ryan and Jon stared at them in vague surprise when they burst into the living room. 

They managed to tear themselves apart, at the mouth, anyway, still clinging and searching with hands. Brendon giggled at Ryan and Jon’s expressions and hid his face in Spencer’s neck. 

“…I guess the date went well,” Jon said. 

“Tell ya all about it. Later,” Spencer said, and dragged Brendon down the hall. 

From the living room he could hear Jon say, “We are relationship _gods_ ,” and Ryan say, “Word.” Just before he shut the bedroom door, he heard them giving each other a high five. 

“They don’t seem very surprised,” Spencer noted. He let Brendon manipulate him, putting Spencer where he wanted him against the door. 

Brendon blushed and fell back on his heels. “Well,” he vacillated. “Okay, so it’s possible the two of them already thought we were a couple. And maybe I didn’t disillusion them of that notion.” 

Spencer arched a brow. Brendon’s blush grew darker and he leaned in, whispering into Spencer’s skin, the sensation making sparks skip down Spencer’s spine. “I may have had certain expectations about how tonight would go. I figured it would be easier to just let them believe than to deny it and then tell them the next day that we are together.” He leaned back again. “Are we together?” 

Spencer raised his hand to Brendon’s cheek and Brendon’s eyes fluttered closed in pleasure. He blinked up at Spencer expectantly. Spencer sunk his hand in Brendon’s hair and pulled him closer. Brendon met him with a soft kiss, winding his arms around Spencer’s shoulders. 

They somehow made their way to the bed without Spencer’s noticing. Brendon’s hands bunched in the fabric of Spencer’s shirt and tugged. “There are buttons,” Spencer said, in fond annoyance, and Brendon huffed, “Then help me undo them.” 

Their hands got tangled up between them, and it probably took longer than it would have if Spencer were doing it himself, but Brendon giggled against Spencer’s lips, and Spencer really wouldn’t have it any other way. “Arms,” Spencer ordered, and Brendon lifted his arms obligingly, letting Spencer draw his t-shirt up and off. 

Brendon wriggled out of his jeans and sat down hard on the bed, bouncing a little. He stretched out and dragged himself toward the middle of the bed. And Spencer had seen him naked before. Naked Brendon was hard to miss. And he’d even admired Brendon naked before. Now he could openly stare, and more. 

“Come on,” Brendon said, rubbing his foot up the seam of Spencer’s jeans. “More skin, Spence.” 

Spencer shoved his foot away playfully, tickling along the arch. Brendon dropped his legs open in invitation. Spencer’s skin felt too tight and he couldn’t get his jeans undone fast enough. He kicked off his jeans and boxers and crawled onto the bed between Brendon’s legs. He laid his hands on Brendon’s knees and stroked upward, thumbs tracing patterns on Brendon’s thighs. Brendon’s cock twitched and he lifted his hips off the bed. 

“Spence,” Brendon whined. “Do I need to sing you one of our songs?” 

“Is that what you want?” Spencer asked, surprised at how low his own voice was. He slid down onto his stomach, spreading his palms over Brendon’s pelvis. 

“Is that even a real question?” Brendon asked. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down his body at Spencer. 

Spencer didn’t think there was anything particularly sexy about his mouth—certainly not compared to Brendon’s—but he could put on a show. He licked his lips, slow and dirty and looked up at Brendon through his lashes, smirking. 

“Shit, Spencer,” Brendon panted. “Shit. Please, yes.” 

Spencer bent his head and swirled his tongue around the head of Brendon’s cock and Brendon fucking _keened_. His hips jerked up and Spencer let Brendon push his cock deeper. He relaxed his jaw and tightened his lips. When Brendon’s hips fell back against the bed, Spencer followed, sinking all the way down until Brendon’s cock was brushing the back of his throat. Brendon was all he could taste and smell. 

Brendon moaned and said, “Stop, wait.” Spencer pulled back until he was just sucking on the tip of Brendon’s cock and Brendon whimpered. “Just…if you do that, I’m going to come.” 

Spencer gave him a look that he hope conveyed his sardonic disbelief, as if to say _isn’t that the point?_ Brendon moaned again and lost the battle against his body, thrusting up into Spencer’s mouth. “Too soon,” Brendon said. 

He pushed at Spencer’s shoulder and Spencer finally let him go. Brendon’s arm flailed out to the bedside table and he grabbed his toiletry bag. He dumped half the contents over the bed before he finally found the lube and held it out between them. “Can I?” Brendon asked, eyes wide like always when he was trying to talk Spencer into something. 

“If you break me,” Spencer started to say, and Brendon bit him hard on the shoulder. 

“Don’t even play like you aren’t gagging for it, Smith,” Brendon said. Which, okay. Fair enough. Spencer’s heart was thudding too hard and his mouth was too dry. He rolled onto his back at Brendon’s side and Brendon followed, propping himself up on his side. He leaned in for a kiss and his hand drifted down Spencer’s chest, traced around his belly button and dipped lower. He didn’t tease, just wrapped his hand around Spencer’s cock and pulled, grip firm and sure. Spencer groaned and Brendon swallowed the sound. 

It got harder for Spencer to keep up with Brendon’s kisses, but Brendon just started kissing down Spencer’s throat, licked a path from collarbone to nipple. His grip loosened on Spencer and then disappeared entirely, but Spencer barely had time to register disappointment before the touch was back, slick with lube and so much better. 

“Fuck,” Brendon said, breathing hard and hot in the crevice of Spencer’s neck. “I wanna fuck you and I wanna ride you, I can’t even decide which I want more.” 

“Me—” Spencer swallowed hard and tried again. “Me, too. Whatever, fuck, Brendon.” 

Brendon nipped at Spencer’s skin and let him go again. Spencer couldn’t stop his groan of frustration but Brendon’s fingers stroked just behind Spencer’s balls and Spencer’s eyes rolled back in his head and his protests died on his lips. 

Spencer had never done this, and Brendon knew Spencer had never done this. Spencer trusted him, but there was still a moment of blind, paralysing fear when Brendon ran the tip of his finger in a circle around Spencer’s opening. Brendon shifted and rose above Spencer to kiss him. It was a soft kiss, made some of the tension bleed from Spencer’s back and neck. 

“Ready?” Brendon murmured, and dipped his tongue into Spencer’s mouth before he could answer. Spencer just nodded and held his breath, waiting. Brendon made a sound Spencer had never heard from him before, made his back arch, cock begging for attention. Brendon pushed his finger in and Spencer’s body gave. 

“Okay?” Brendon asked. He pressed in deeper, but slowly. 

It was a strange sensation, but it didn’t sting as badly as Spencer had expected. He nodded his head and said, “Yeah. Yes. You can…” 

Brendon just smiled and kissed Spencer again. He was so _patient_ about it, which was pretty much the opposite of what Spencer would have expected of Brendon in bed, but he wasn’t complaining. When Brendon added a second finger and then a third it was only after a lot of stretching and coaxing, and until the third he barely felt more than a twinge of pain. He kept brushing against Spencer’s prostate—enough to make Spencer’s breath catch in his chest and make him squirm for more, but not _enough_. 

“This is not you being nice,” Spencer complained. “You’re trying to kill me.” 

Brendon laughed, pressing their foreheads together, and when he opened his eyes, it was sorta impossible to misinterpret the expression in them. Spencer felt sobered and suddenly desperate for Brendon to be closer. He swallowed hard and reached for Brendon’s arms, pulling him in. “Seriously, you should get on this fucking thing before I run out of patience and decide to do the fucking.” 

“Promises,” Brendon said, with a wicked grin, but he pressed his fingers hard against Spencer’s prostate, drawing a tight circle. 

Spencer fumbled around in the pile of stuff on the bed coming up triumphant with a condom. Brendon’s hips jerked into the touch when Spencer rolled it on and slicked him up. Brendon hadn’t seemed too big when Spencer had gone down on him, but Spencer had given blowjobs before. _This_ was different, and now, in his hand, Brendon seemed gigantic. 

Brendon sat back on his heels and grabbed Spencer’s ankles, moving him where he wanted. It was hot, Brendon manhandling him, and Spencer just let his muscles relax and let Brendon do what he would. He shoved Spencer’s knees up high on his chest and moved in, Spencer’s feet tucking along Brendon’s hips. 

“You freaking out?” Brendon asked. 

Spencer nodded. “A little,” he answered. 

“It’ll be so good, baby,” Brendon said, in a ridiculous voice and Spencer smacked him with an open palm against his shoulder. 

“You should probably shut up and prove it,” Spencer said and Brendon wriggled his brows. It shouldn’t have been hot. 

Brendon reached between them to position himself and then he was pushing in. Spencer moaned, not entirely from pleasure, and squeezed tight on Brendon’s shoulders. Brendon stopped, barely inside, and ran a hand down the back of Spencer’s thigh, over his ass. His thumb brushed the place where he was pressing into Spencer. There was something dirty and intimate about it, and brought home the fact that Brendon was _inside_ of him. Spencer let out a shuddering breath, and when Brendon pressed forward again, it was easier. 

They moved slow and Spencer felt like they were caught out of time. He couldn’t hear Jon and Ryan or any of the neighbours, just the sound of him and Brendon breathing and the slick sounds their bodies made together. 

Brendon was _good_. He knew just the right angle to drive Spencer a little crazy, always just brushing where Spencer wanted him, but never hard enough. Spencer wasn’t necessarily above begging, but it was sort of fun, knowing that Brendon was just teasing, that he would give Spencer what he wanted when he was ready. 

Spencer sucked on Brendon’s throat, making an uneven necklace of bruises. He touched wherever he could, hands down Brendon’s back, fingers teasing at Brendon’s nipples, nails scraping over Brendon’s ass. Brendon grunted and thrust harder in surprise and Spencer’s hips bucked in answer. It took him a second to realise he was whimpering, but Brendon got the hint, rolling his hips harder, right against Spencer’s prostate. 

Brendon reached between them and wrapped his hand around Spencer’s cock and Spencer’s head fell back against the pillow. He couldn’t keep up anymore, just let Brendon do all the work while Spencer just clung to him. 

Brendon grinded down and surprised a cry out of Spencer. He felt himself flush and hoped that Ryan and Jon couldn’t hear over the television. Brendon pressed his thumb to the head of Spencer’s cock and twisted his wrist. “Come on, Spence,” he murmured, and licked the sweat trickling down Spencer’s throat. 

There was urgency in Brendon’s voice, like he was close, and Spencer was the reason. He arched up into Brendon’s touch and stopped trying to hold on. It was sort of embarrassing how hard he came, his toes curling into Brendon’s skin, his whole body shaking with it. Brendon kissed him, muffling the sound he made, and thrust hard once, twice, and his hips stilled. 

“Fuck,” Spencer said, when he could breathe again. Brendon gave him a wicked grin, easing his hips back. When he slid out, it was a strange, too empty sensation and he closed his thighs. Brendon tossed the condom aside and flopped down at Spencer’s side. 

There was a long silence, and Spencer couldn’t figure out if it was awkward or usual. Brendon ran his fingers across Spencer’s chest, and brought them, come slick, to his mouth. It was either disturbing or really hot, Spencer couldn’t decide which. “Did I rock your world?” Brendon asked. 

“Oh my god, shut up,” Spencer said, hiding behind his hands. 

Brendon wiped away the rest of the mess with his discarded t-shirt and then burrowed closer. Spencer lifted an arm around his shoulder, drawing him in. It felt like any other time cuddling, except with a lot more skin. Spencer sort of preferred it this way. 

“Should we risk going back out there tonight?” Brendon asked, casting a glance at the door. 

Spencer nuzzled into Brendon’s neck and hummed thoughtfully. “Nah. I like it better in here.” 

Brendon pulled away enough so Spencer could see him beaming, and Spencer smiled back until his face hurt. He stroked his palm down Brendon’s hip, drew his hand back, and brought it back down with a hard smack against Brendon’s ass cheek. Brendon yelped and rolled his hips against Spencer’s. He looked up at Spencer in surprise, eyes glaring, mouth pouting. “What was that for?” he demanded. 

Spencer admired the way Brendon’s skin went a dull pink and soothed the back of his hand against where he’d hit. “I told you I was gonna kick your ass for the whole Ferris wheel thing.” 

“Whatever,” Brendon said. “I totally cured you of your fear. You should be _thanking_ me.” 

“Thanking you?” Spencer echoed. “For dragging me onto that death trap?” 

Brendon smacked him on the shoulder, but it lacked any real sting. “I won’t have you talking that way about the place of our first kiss.” 

Spencer closed his eyes and shook his head, and said, “Why am I best friends with you?” 

“You love me,” Brendon said automatically, like he always did. 

“Still a rhetorical question,” Spencer reminded him. 

“Still true,” Brendon said easily. “However.” Spencer opened his eyes when Brendon sat up. He watched lazily as Brendon twisted around, settling himself on Spencer’s thighs. “I can probably give you a few more reasons, if you’re unsure.” 

Spencer tried to look reflective, pursing his lips. Brendon sunk down Spencer’s body, sprinkling kisses over his chest and stomach. Spencer threaded his fingers in Brendon’s hair, not pushing, but ready to. 

“If you think that will help,” Spencer said.

“It’s worth a shot,” Brendon said, grin cheeky.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone on the Chicago trip who decided it would be a good idea to fit us all in one car on the Ferris wheel, leading to this fic being born. I couldn’t have done it without them all.


End file.
